Pairing(s): tyl!Hibari x Hibari, tyl D18
Tags: crack & lemon
Warnings: mansex, selfcest, time-space paradox ignore & extremely persistent vegetable.
Summary: What met the cold steel of his weapon, though, was neither flesh nor bone; the bad-tempered prefect found himself staring dumbfounded at an exact replica of his own weapon.
Disclaimer: Nothing but the sick idea belongs to me; all characters as well as their background belong to Amano Akira.
What seemed to be just another peaceful morning above Namimori was ostentatiously threatening to dissolve into chaos any time – and Hibari Kyouya could feel that. He could sense it in the wafting scent attacking his nose ruthlessly, invading his nostrils with hostility as if determined to prove him he cannot reign control over just about everything in Namimori. And that was, indubitably, something Hibari Kyouya did not like in the slightest. It was his town after all; and the mere thought of there being anything beyond the reach of his influence taking place in his town was enough of an excuse to vent out his livid rage on an innocent passer-by who surely wasn't as innocent as he looked since Hibari's book of rules contained enough restriction for each living being on Earth down to the most primitive protozoan to have broken at least one.
Meanwhile, as the Namimori Middle Discipline Committee Leader pondered about the amusement that mutilating the unsuspecting bearer of an exceedingly annoying orange umbrella could bring, gentle sighs that were in striking contrast with the rumbling grunts the prefect's throat bellowed would emerge from the kitchen of the Sawada household, where the lady of the house would be enjoying her favourite soap-opera whilst keeping an eye on the quickly multiplying number of children around her dining table.
It would've been another morning as any other – the usage of the term "peaceful" however, no matter how temptingly handy it might sound, would not be even distantly appropriate when describing any morning in the Sawada household. This morning did not differ from any other in the slightest – or at least it seemed so; I-Pin had been running circles around the kitchen, half-blind and nearly crazed in her desperate attempt to find her glasses, while Lambo was making faces at the vegetables on his plate as he silently speculated about his possible options of escape without having to eat them. He might've only been a five-year old child, yet in this kind of situation, he was the embodiment of the term "resourcefulness" – therefore, the child did not hesitate a moment when Reborn dozed off whilst Mama was still staring at the screen devotedly and Bianchi had gone shopping with Fuuta, and scooped up all his vegetables in one swift move, ditching them into the mysterious insides of his ten-year-bazooka.
Out of courtesy to the reader's mental health, we shall now leave the warm embrace of the home of the Sawadas – for the faithful retailer of the story does not wish to be responsible for a massive outbreak of nightmares and obnoxious images burned into the retinas of the patient audience due to the sight of a certain spineless herbivore in his underwear.
Let us return instead, on the lively streets of Namimori, now already bursting with life as the jocund day urges all the remaining sleepyheads out of the fluffy feather-beds and the vivacious chirping melody permeates the early morning air strewn with gently breeze. A certain Hibari Kyouya that had been until just recently patrolling the streets of his beloved hometown, was now nowhere to be seen – for long before the residents could overflow the grey paved streets like ants on the victorious march, the Skylark had retreated to his nest, up in the heights of the Namimori Middle rooftop. From there, he could observe, evaluate and condemn; and in case anyone proved interesting or simply bothersome enough for him to actually leave his royal post, he would slowly descend to the grounds where puny little mortals tended to gather and crowd, but never without a jacket flung casually over his shoulders, a sign of authority accompanied by the imperialistic armband pinned to his sleeve neatly, both automatically alleviating and alienating him from the herbivores he passed on his way to the execution.
This morning, his majesty the shadow king of Namimori, had decided to honour the late arrivées with his presence and, naturally, rightful punishment. And who else could have obviously concluded it was a good day to come running late to school than his least favourite herbivore? Tsk, it was hardly an enjoyment biting him to death, the way he hardly struggled when beaten into a pulp. Though, truth be told, he probably would've done so anyway, with his current level of irritation, had it not been for the cow-dressed kid with a curious haircut that emerged out of the frightened student's backpack just then.
The child opened his large round eyes, blinked two times to clear away the drowsiness and to make sure he truly was seeing what he thought he was seeing – and slipped into an unending ear-piercing cry as soon as the blur in front of his eyes focused into a highly irritated Cloud Guardian with a bared tonfa pointed in his direction.
Hibari Kyouya did not like trespassers in his school; he did not like kids for that matter, and he certainly did not like hearing them cry their throats out while making sure his eardrums won't pop due to the volume of the high-pitched voice.
Therefore, he did what he deemed appropriate to do when rules and regulations were violated, and even bothered to give a fair warning of his intentions: "I will bite you all to death."
Apparently though, getting bitten to death wasn't on the list of the child's favourite hobbies, as his crying only grew more unbearable, and his hands hurried to grip a purple-coloured metallic weapon, pulling it out of his wild hair eagerly, aiming without paying much attention, and pulling the trigger.
For a few seconds, everything disappeared in a puff of pink smoke – yet, as the gas slowly started clearing out, it seemed to take on the way of the chameleon, and changed its colour towards an unhealthy pallid green shade that complemented the unbearable stench spreading out amazingly well. Soon enough, the sunrays lit up the situation by revealing the cause of the latest – a pile of molten food lying on the floor, something that looked remotely similar as to what Lambo's vegetables of this morning's breakfast would've become in ten years of unhindered rotting. After that revelation, everyone's eyes shot up and scoured the faces around them, those not aware of the weapon's function wondering if everyone was safe, and those knowing the ten-year-bazooka mechanism of action searching for the one that had been replaced by his ten-year-older version.
Only, they would find none.
Just as mostly everyone was about conclude the person to have switched with its ten-year-after version were obviously Lambo's breakfast remains, a low voice came, drawling out the vowels lazily.
A pair of steel-gray eyes met another pair of steel-gray eyes, glaring from under slanted eyebrows. The Namimori Middle prefect glared up at the taller man, scrutinising the unkempt raven hair and slightly dishevelled clothes, the elegant silk dark purple shirt open two-buttons-down and lacking a tie, the confident smirk plastered on the man's face. The teen narrowed his eyes in suspicion, taking in the image before him, and feeling the blood boil merely from the presence of the mysterious ruthless-looking man before him.
"Who are you?" he asked coldly, attempting to display dominance through the subtle undertone of a threat in his voice.
It didn't seem to work though; the man in front of him seemed more amused than anything else, and his lips were still curled into a confident smirk daring the teen in front of him to try to wipe it off his face.
Needless to say, that served to merely irritate the young Cloud more; he pompously declared he will "bite him to death for unauthorised sudden materialisation on school grounds" and lunged towards him, his loyal pair of tonfas ready to bash his skull until there's nothing left but a bleeding mess of splinters and shards of bone mingled with torn flesh.
What met the cold steel of his weapon, though, was neither flesh nor bone; the bad-tempered prefect found himself staring dumbfounded at an exact replica of his own weapon.
The man's smirk stretched even further, revealing amusement at the turn of the events – amusement that was driving the sixteen-year-old Hibari Kyouya livid with uncontrolled rage; who was this man who bore the exact same weapon as he did; how dare he have that defiant gaze in those unyielding eyes that distantly reminded him of someone but he did not know whom; and how did he stop his strike with such easiness, as if he was using a mere tenth of his strength?
Pebbles crunched under the soles of his shoes as the stranger turned on his heels, strode a few steps and jumped over the school fence effortlessly and with an air of innate elegance, glancing tauntingly over his shoulder once more before taking off – it was obvious that he wanted to continue their fight in another location, and the Nami Middle school prefect wasn't the one to hesitate over a promising fight; ignoring the shocked expressions on the student's faces (including that of disbelief and utter horror on Sawada Tsunayoshi's), he darted past everyone and out in the streets, following the mysterious man eagerly, raring for a fight against such a strong opponent he promised to be, making his way towards the deserted area around the Nami Shrine.
They faced each other as they reached the deserted area where they could fight without worry of disrupting the peace and discipline of Namimori themselves; their gazes a perfect reflection of each other, defiance, pride and eager anticipation swirling within the twin pair of mercury-like irises while the curves of their mouths curled in opposite ways, the younger one frowning whilst the older one kept smirking.
The teen was the first to strike; his tentative hit, probing his opponent, was deflected with ease as the older man lunged forwards hungrily, replying with a much stronger bash towards his left side - a skilful swing of tonfa that the younger Cloud barely evaded getting hit by. The stranger smirked in silent satisfaction at this feat, while his muscles tensed in excitement as he continued with a barrage of attacks hammering towards the youthful raven – that, no less thrilled at the metallic sound of tonfas colliding, blocked each of his blows while searching for an opening to strike back at him.
Truly, it was like an ethereal dance, seeing them fight; the weapons swishing through air effortlessly, meeting their twin without exception, their bodies circling around each other, moving in perfect sync as if they were in their thousandth repeat of the same routine of perfectly memorized choreography.
They were perfect; there was no other way to describe them.
Perfect in executing their unwritten choreography of those elegant yet deadly moves; perfect in their fleeting rendezvous with death that every single unanswered blow provided; perfect in their dance macabre that left them breathless and aroused, panting for more as the adrenaline surged through their veins, pulsing in time with their ragged breaths and irregular heartbeat.
A flurry of shrivelled leaves embraced them, but they had no time for noticing such things; their gazes were fixated on the opponent in front of them, twin pair of silvery-steel eyes under slanted eyebrows entranced by each other.
Yet suddenly, they stopped; or, more like, time stopped for them as they gazed at each other from an uncomfortably close distance, the pregnant silence hanging over them overwhelmingly, disrupted only by the huff of their ragged breaths. The world around the younger Cloud swayed and swirled into a flurry blur, the only unmoving thing a pair of all too familiar cold eyes in front of him as he gasped for air in a futile attempt, feeling nothing but the odd sensation of cold steel against his throat, blocking his airway.
An ordinary person in such a situation (ignoring the blatant fact that an ordinary person would never manage to get in this kind of situation in the first place), would most likely think something along the lines of 'Shit! Am I going to die now?' – yet, Hibari Kyouya had never been anything even remotely similar to an ordinary person, and thus even when his lungs burned with the lack of oxygen and his head grew dizzy and sight grew dim, he still had that challenging defiant look in his eyes. The thought of dying hadn't even crossed his mind; he began to feel a pang of anxiousness build up in the back of his throat as he felt his consciousness fading, yet he did not understand its meaning, or the possible outcome – it was not that he wouldn't understand that a person can die, he just never thought about himself dying.
But before his consciousness would have slipped away, the tonfa was removed, and he slumped down against the rough bark of the tree he had been pressed against, the air burning its was down his throat as it invaded his lungs, making him even more dizzy before allowing the teen to attempt to regain his composure.
"Hn. Still too weak."
Those words infuriated him; the mocking, slightly disappointed tone of the man's voice even more so – and the fact that he spun on his heels and paced away fed his temper until his rage shot up through the roof. He would not be defeated, not by someone as arrogant as this, not by this stranger that looked at him they way it should've been banned, and fought against him as if he'd known his every single thought, seen through his every single move ...
The hedgehog, rolled into a ball and coated with flame, shot towards the departing stranger – only to be met in its tracks by a perfectly identical Cloud hedgehog.
The man slowly turned around, taking in the astounded expression on his younger counterpart's face with an amused smirk playing on his lips.
"Who would've thought my younger self would be so blissfully clueless... Not only are you pathetically weak, you don't bother to keep yourself well-informed, you have no clue about the working mechanism of the ten-year-bazooka, and you can't even recognize yourself when faced with your future version."
With a simple command, he got both of the hedgehogs stored back in their boxes – after all, he did not want the tiny animal to be forced to fight itself – and crouched down in front of his younger self, his eyes scanning his appearance, somewhat sadistically enjoying the state he was in, and revelling in the fact that only he could put himself in such a state. It was arousing, to say the least; watching yourself that is you but at the same time is not, dishevelled and defeated yet still glaring back with that unyielding defiance–
"Look at yourself. You look pitiful."
He felt he could understand the Bucking Horse a bit better now.
A tonfa shot towards him out of nowhere, yet the hit was so feeble he could catch it in his hand easily, stopping it mid-swing effortlessly.
"Why do you keep on trying? You can never surpass me. The stronger you get, the stronger I get."
He sighed when his younger self kept stubbornly silent; he had hoped this version of himself was at the age when he had become more talkative, deriving enjoyment from provoking his opponents until they came onto him with full force so that he could smash them into a pulp without the feeling he had not exploited the fight to its best – but alas, it seemed his hopes were in vain.
Tightening the grip on the steel struggling towards him, he pulled it out of the teen's grasp and cast it aside. His smirk spread wider as his fingers cupped the chin and pushed up so that he could observe the slightly flushed face distorted by a frown and that pair of merciless eyes glaring right back at him even in this submissive position.
"Hn. The Bucking Horse was quite right... you really are ridiculously cute."
Ignoring the shocked gaze that permeated his momentarily uncontrolled younger self's face for a second, he dove in for those supple lips, teasing, licking, biting and sucking while his skilful fingers strayed downwards to relieve the teen of his clothes, brushing against the places he knew would earn him a surprised gasp and a muffled moan. He knew this body better than anyone else ever could; he knew every single spot that aroused it, teased it, and drove it over the edge writhing in pleasure – after all, it was his own.
He muffled the fiery protests the young Cloud tried to force past his lips effortlessly, and pinned the defeated teen's arms above his head, capturing the slender wrists in a uncompromising grip with his left hand while he let his right explore and tease and pleasure, running up and down the lithe body writhing under him, trying to defy the building heat he was awakening in him in a futile attempt.
He dove in for the neck hungrily, licking and nibbling and devouring, enjoying the salty taste of the skin – of his own skin – on his tongue, mixing with the copper tang of crimson as he bit down on the flesh just above the collarbone hard enough to draw blood. His head was devoid of any coherent thought; the himself that was him and yet not him had entranced him, and all that mattered now was to make him writhe and gasp and moan until he couldn't take it anymore, and to relish in the pleasure of knowing no one could ever make him feel as good again.
The teen under him bucked up, and ground their hips together roughly, making them both shudder at the harsh friction of their erected members against each other; the older Cloud smirked against the skin and hummed in satisfaction at the youth's impatient approach – it seemed that he needed this just as much as he did, if not even more.
Urge-driven fingers fumbled with the prefect's button and zipper, undoing the front of the constraining piece of clothing and pulling it down and off his legs; and before he knew it, his boxers were gone as well, leaving him butt-naked on the grass with nothing but a shirt hanging scraggily over his shoulders, a mere detail complementing the exquisite image of him – flushed, panting and strewn with need, his member weeping with pre-come, aching for attention as the older man took it in his grasp, slowly trailing the entire length, teasing the tip to draw those priceless reactions from the younger male.
His grip released the wrists he had been restraining – he needed both of his hands, and it was obvious that at this point, his younger self wouldn't even attempt to resist or push him away. He let his hand find its way slowly, trailing down over the lithe body, emphasizing every curve he found there while marking his territory with growing splotches of red and purple against the porcelain-white skin that formed under his teeth. He hummed in slight surprise and unmasked satisfaction as nails dug into his back, the teen's hands clawing at him while his hips bucked up into the teasing hand.
The Bucking Horse might've gotten him to take things slowly and prologue the moment basking in relishing pleasure, but even the twenty-six-year-old Hibari was at his limit now. He shoved two of his fingers into the tight entrance immediately, fingering the teen impatiently, earning a row of shocked gasps that the young raven tried to suppress by gritting his teeth together; he wouldn't show discomfort in front of anyone, much less to his older self that had so arrogantly basked in victory and brought him down to his knees, not smashing his pride into countless pieces only because it was himself that did it, himself being the only man that could defeat him.
The third finger joined the initial pair soon after, giving the prefect barely enough time to adjust, pushing further in and spreading him ruthlessly; his body ached all over from battle, and the gradually growing pain of sore muscles mingled with pleasure in an amazing cocktail of painsure that had his body bucking and squirming against his will, pushing up into the hand teasing his member, and falling roughly down onto the fingers violating his entrance.
The pace was disrupted when the older of the two Cloud Guardians suddenly pulled out his fingers and let the younger fall back to the grassy plain before yanking him up and around, drawing his back to his chest, and pushing straight into him, burying himself right to the hilt in one single smooth move that had the teen gasp and moan out loudly in surprise.
He positioned his younger self so that he could see his face while he pounded into him repeatedly – turned him so that he could see the irises of those half-lidded eyes roll, going blank with every surge of pleasure that surged through him, so that he could see the supple lips gasping and involuntarily letting half-muffled moans past them, and so that he could see the entire array of those delectable expressions colouring the normally expressionless face, and burn them deep into his retina.
He nibbled on the exposed neck in front of him as if savouring the luscious aroma while pulling out and pounding in faster deeper harder until he lost himself completely in the rapturous rhythm as he ravished the lithe body squirming beneath him and bucking backwards to meet his thrusts eagerly; they both knew what to do, where to touch and where to rub against either to please their partner or to prolong their act – after all, their partner was themselves.
Suddenly, the body under him grew limp, and he felt the heat spiralling in his stomach as the already tight entrance clenched around him tensely, draining him of any coherent thought and bringing him to his climax in a matter of a few last, already half-conscious thrusts before the world shattered into nothing around him, and exploded into white, blinding and deafening him yet overwhelming his senses with all the sensations pulsing through him.
He froze, lost in pleasure, and stuck in time, captured in the one moment of pure bliss that filled him with more sensations than he could handle; the waves of pleasure washed over him, mingling with freshly acquired memories of what he had just shared with his younger self, doubling the experience and flushing everything out of his head.
The older man slumped against the teen under him, his ragged breathing complementing the prefect's wheezes coming out in hoarse huffs as they lay in the soft grass; drained, satisfied and only waiting for their erratic heartbeat to subside enough for them to able to pick up their weapons and continue where they left off.
The older Hibari Kyouya seemed as if he was about to say something, when a puff of pink smoke interrupted him, and warped him back into his own time, his tired body collapsing onto the bed from where he had been pulled into the future.
Dino Cavallone, leisurely sitting in a chair across the room, eyed him suspiciously before standing up and approaching; he noticed his lover's dishevelled look that far exceeded the state he'd left in, the glistening beads of sweat and the musky scent hanging heavily over him. He might've been overly optimistic to the point of naivety from time to time, but he surely wasn't ignorant; he knew what all that meant, and he was not amused.
"Kyouya. What have you done?" he asked demandingly. There was no trace of the always-smiling affectionate Dino whispering sweet nothings into Hibari's ear.
The Cloud merely smirked in answer, leaving the rest to the Bucking Horse's imagination.
"You just cheated on me, didn't you?" he continued, his voice as cold as ice, cutting like a chef's best knife through raw tuna.
The raven chuckled darkly, obviously amused by the situation.
"I guess you could put it that way. Although, technically it was masturbating."
It was Dino's turn to quirk an eyebrow in surprise at the answer; taking in the dishevelled look of his partner, he could not see how all he had done was pleasing himself, finishing what they had merely just started on – while he himself patiently awaited the return of his fickle Skylark.
"It was your fault anyway for leaving me in such a state-"
"You were warped out by the bazooka, there was nothing I could do!"
"-although I learned something interesting."
Dino was thrown into a hurricane of mingled fury and confusion; as much as he was livid since his Kyouya had cheated on him the moment he lost sight of him, he was confounded by his amused smirk and enigmatic words. He wasn't sure what to make of the entire ordeal, but he was certain that if Kyouya wished him to know, he will be told everything necessary in due time – so he stuffed down his temper and went along with the raven's hints.
"And what might that be?"
The moody Cloud smirked confidently, almost seductively, before slowly drawling out his answer, moving towards the Cavallone now sitting on the bed so that when his reply came, they were only inches away, his hands sneakily making their way to the crucial points that had to be restrained if he was to tackle down the blonde.
"I learned that you were quite correct in claiming I looked ridiculously cute at sixteen... especially when we were intimate with each other."
He thoroughly enjoyed the gasp and the appalled look on the Bucking Horse's face he had been rewarded with for this statement.
"That's right, Bucking Horse, I cheated on you with myself."
Really, the Cavallone was a priceless source of entertainment; he never even knew he could make this kind of a face, always either playing it cool or grinning idiotically. To say the least, it was amusing drawing out this kind of expressions out of the tenth generation mafia boss that looked more like a child that saw something he shouldn't with every sentence Hibari uttered.
"So now... how about we see what kind of faces you can make?"
Without a warning, he tackled the taller man, pinning him under him quite effectively.
Suffice to say, Hibari Kyouya was not the kind of a person to wait when told so.